


Sean Young: The Odds

by bearandcrow



Category: Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, MDZS, Mo Dao Zu Shi
Genre: M/M, Mention of A-Qing, Mention of Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen, Mild Gore Reference, Reincarnation AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27730000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearandcrow/pseuds/bearandcrow
Summary: A short extra from Sean Young's (Xue Yang) POV, occurring after "More Than a Lifetime" (a modern Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen reincarnation AU.Editor credit & thanks to K.V. MoffetHe wasn't thirteen anymore. Angry at the world... well, yeah, sure, but ready to fight it every single day? Not so much.
Kudos: 1





	Sean Young: The Odds

_Shit._

They were talking about finding a 3-bedroom apartment.

There were only two ways that was gonna go.

Xingchen was going to get his own room...

He tried to envision it.

No. Song Lan was stupid happy with Xingchen living with him.

Xingchen? Sleeping in a separate room? Nope. That guy seemed hardwired to only operate under SongLan OS.

He ruled that out.

Audrey had her own room, so she didn't need one.

So that meant... they wanted him out of the living room. Out of their way. In a bedroom.

Like he could afford rent.

He made the decision easy on them.

He left.

Spent almost three nights at a friend's house before he'd worn out his welcome. Then a night at the beach where no one would see him and complain. He almost went to a homeless shelter but... he didn't. He found places to sleep where he could, sometimes where he shouldn't.

He got a job working at an auto shop. Did their grunt work, didn't earn much, but they made sure he got food, and let him get cleaned up each day before he started. The owner's son let him borrow clothes while he got his washed. Even let him stay a couple nights behind the shop before telling him it was time to find another place.

Rain was coming and the beach was cold.

He finally went back to the apartment.

He stared at the door knob. He kept expecting they'd change the locks. He'd never had a key before that didn't one day stop working.

He grit his teeth, held his breath. Fit the key into the lock. _So far, so good._

He turned the key.

The lock clicked open. The key worked on the second lock. He opened the door, and started breathing again.

He walked in. The place was dimly lit, sure sign Xingchen was here, but looked like no one was up.

He locked the door, then stripped in the entry so he didn't get the place dirty. Left his shoes by the door, scooped up his clothes and walked to the little laundry area outside the bathroom. He tossed his clothes into the minuscule washer, poured in soap, and started it.

The load was small, even for that washer. He liked to say that what he didn't have in volume, he made up for in dirt.

It was a joke. Reality was that he didn't like being dirty, but he'd learned to ignore it.

Funny, how you needed money to stay clean.

He sometimes thought he should do the kind of jobs he envisioned he'd be really good at. He was good at getting into trouble without putting forth much effort. Seemed a logical jump to believe he'd be good at outside-the-law jobs.

But the thought always sent an ominous skitter up his spine, like a personal, primordial warning of danger.

Or maybe it was just his past screaming 'not again'. Sometimes he worried he was, after all, just a coward.

He'd tried a life of crime. Ridden shotgun on some grab-n-go. Could've earned a hundred dollars, and instead, there'd been a car chase. Cop lights behind them and a stalled truck up ahead. The brakes locked up and tires squealed and then the crashing and pain. He'd stared at his friend's surprised expression for a long, long time before he figured out what was wrong. That his buddy was dead, he knew. What took time to process was that his buddy still sat in the driver's seat. And his buddy's head lay, surprised, on the dashboard in front of him.

He'd nearly lost his pinkie finger. Ended up doing some time in juvie. Some nights, he could still see the surprise on his buddy's face. He drank more those nights.

Now, all he had to do was bend his fingers, notice the dull pain that ran the length of his pinkie, and he'd back off from taking those jobs. So he ended up washing dishes at some dive for a few bucks. He picked fruit. Hauled furniture. Shovelled up yards for a landscaper. He got sweaty and dirty.

Finding a steady job was a challenge. That seemed about all he and Song Lan really had in common. Song Lan squeaked by on some kind of assistance money. Seemed like a pisspoor tradeoff. Like the universe had some perverse grudge against Song Lan and from the get-go, the guy had been screwed.

But the guy wasn't pissed off and he couldn't figure that. A mystery that kept him curious enough to stick around, at the start. And then it just got to be habit. And Song Lan didn't kick him out.

Audrey, near as he could figure, paid the bulk of the rent, but deferred to Song Lan.

He still didn't know why.

But what he finally got was that he was angry and he didn't care about that. He still had all his parts, and they worked.

In the end, it was his own fucked up decisions that landed him without a job, and a history that made employers look for someone else.

He got it. But he couldn't change the past. And without an income, nothing else came readily, including cleanliness.

Song Lan was a picky bastard, but the only time they'd had a serious clash was when Song Lan said he stank and asked him to shower. Normally, he begrudgingly did. Begrudging because he didn't like being bossed around. But that one time, he was exhausted, wanted to sleep first. Song Lan was impatient. When he didn't kowtow, Song Lan blew up and demanded he shower now, or get the fuck out.

He also didn't like anyone thinking they were better than him.

He'd left.

Had slept under some stranger's stairwell, pretending no one would be alarmed to find him there, right until the cops arrived and set his ass running.

In hindsight, the shower would've been the better option.

So he was taking a shower now.

Even assholes can learn.

After his shower, he dried off, tossed the towel over his shoulder. He could use it to feign decency if one of the sighted got up. Tomorrow, he'd go to the Salvation Army and get some more clothes.

He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a soda. He plunked it on the counter, and glanced at the little basket where his occasional mail showed up. A soda can sat on a coaster on top of an envelope. He tilted his head, considered the soda and picked it up.

Cold.

So, Song Lan had heard him come in, left a subtle, 'Hello, made sure it was you,' message. Not like the blind guy was going to handwrite a little 'so you're back' note.

For some weird reason, he felt more... okay to be there. Like the key still working hadn't been an oversight.

Microwave glowed 2:09.

He put one soda back in the fridge, and took the other with him, into the living room.

He popped the tab, took a long swallow, let the fizz fizzle down his throat. Stood naked, eyeing the couch and wondering why he wasn't already plunked down on it.

_No naked asses on shared surfaces outside of the bathroom._

_Oh yeah._ Audrey. Sometimes, she was such a prude.

He walked over to the basket with his blankets (not even his, really). He should get points for acting civilized. Clean and getting a blanket between his naked ass and the couch. Things were changing.

He wasn't thirteen anymore. Angry at the world... well, yeah, sure, but ready to fight it every single day? Not so much.

He was just one guy and the odds were stacked against him. He kept losing and even when he won, he didn't seem to have gained much of anything worth that much of a fight.

And that couch was so comfortable. Didn't have sand fleas, either. He'd learned that lesson the itchy way.

He reached for the top blanket. Paused.

Something was on the blanket.

Did they have cockroaches? Song Lan would have a shit fit. But he'd been gone, so they couldn't blame him. Could they?

The faint light wasn't enough for this dark corner. He turned on the tv, waited for the glow to brighten and looked again.

Blankets neatly folded, a pillow on top, and on top of that... two little shiny rectangles. Not bugs. He picked them up. Turned them in the light. Gave them a sniff.

Chocolate mints.

That triggered a recent memory.

_They'd been watching some old shows again. He'd put an episode on pause, asked anyone who'd answer, "Tell me they don't really put mints on someone's pillow like that." So lame._

_"I've stayed in a couple hotels where they did," Xingchen said._

_"What are you supposed to do with them?"_

_"Just... eat them, if you like."_

_He'd stared at Xingchen. It just seemed so... idiotic. Did people really think those were a gift? Maybe that's why hotels were so fucking expensive. To cover the 'bullshitting you' service._

He peeled the paper off one, gave it a test-bite. Approved. Downed them both and dropped the wrappers on the end table.

_Xingchen had shrugged. "Nothing wrong with it. It's just a way of saying 'Hello, we're glad you're here.'"_

He shook his head. _Idiots._

He laid out the blankets, tossed a pillow at one end and stretched out.

_Huh._

The couch was even more comfortable than he remembered.

Sleep came quickly. Easily.


End file.
